


(Why Don't You) Come a Little Closer

by fletchfeathers



Series: The Kids Are All Fucked Up (High School/College AU) [4]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: College AU, D&D, Drow, F/F, Fluff, Gay Disasters, Tiefling, loose lutes, sign squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 09:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18443825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fletchfeathers/pseuds/fletchfeathers
Summary: Scrimmy is truly, irrevocably fucked.





	(Why Don't You) Come a Little Closer

Scrimmy is uncharacteristically nervous.

She tries not to let it show, of course, leaning back on the battered couch in the attic of the bar where they're about to play the set they've played a hundred times, the songs she could play in her sleep. Her black bass guitar, scratched and stickered within an inch of its life, lies sprawled across her lap, waiting to be tuned ready for the set; but Scrimmy just picks absently at a scab on her knee through one of the holes in her deliberately-distressed tights, her mind racing.

See, she'd given Ril free tickets to the show tonight – two of them, so she could bring her best friend Endy if she wanted – and she's surprised at herself, if she's honest, for being so worried about whether or not Ril will even come, whether she'll bring Endy or come alone, whether she'll enjoy the set.

It's not like her to be so undone over someone.

Downstairs, she knows – she can feel the vibrations through the floor, through what she affectionately dubs her "stompy lesbian boots" - that their opener is on. Icarus Swiftsilver hadn't needed to ask for a spot, but they had asked politely anyway, all sweet puppy-eyes and practiced modesty.

Of course the band had said yes to them - the bar is probably packed out right now for Icarus alone. Scrimmy doesn't know if they're a _good_ singer, but she figures they really don't need to be, with looks like theirs and the magnetic charm that seems to be woven into every fibre of their being.

Still. Icarus aside. She's _nervous._

Ril is so  _cute,_ is the thing. Completely, ridiculously so, small and feisty and enviably immune to ever giving a fuck about what anyone thinks of her. And those _eyes,_ fuck, brilliant blue and never without a spark of mischief, and Scrimmy never fails to feel as though she's been punched in the chest when she makes Ril smile or laugh and Scrimmy gets to see those eyes light up. 

Scrimmy is truly, irrevocably fucked.

She drops her face into her hands, feeling her cheeks burn with the dumb, stupid crush, until she feels a tap on her shoulder and glances up, hoping she's not still blushing.

Talon – their new keyboard player – holds up his hands as though he's going to sign to her, but she sees in the nervous dart of his grey eyes that his confidence quickly fails him. Instead he just holds up both his hands with his fingers splayed, and Scrimmy reads his lips as he says, "On in 10, okay?"

Scrimmy flashes him a thumbs up, and Talon nods, stretching his arms up behind his head as he wanders over towards their vocalist Fabian, a muscular, handsome Half-Orc, who Scrimmy can see is doing some vocal warmups in a dirty mirror over the sink. Talon says something to him as well – she assumes the same 10-minute warning – and Fabian nods, pushing a huge hand back through his dark hair to smooth it down, well-toned muscles rippling under his green skin.

For as long as Scrimmy can remember, Fabian's been one of her best friends – and he hasn't changed a bit since they were kids. Fabian has never been shy or reserved, always carrying himself with more confidence in his little finger than the rest of them have combined – and his good looks, especially as Half-Orcs go, have always helped.

Still, ten minutes is ten minutes, and Scrimmy still hasn't even tuned her bass yet, let alone warmed up. She plugs in her tuner, fiddling with the worn pegs, and the comforting hum of the bass in her fingertips, tingling all the way into her chest, soothes the bundle of nerves into something more like excitement.

She plays a few scales just to warm up her hands, her fingers instinctively knowing where to move over the heavy strings, and then plays a few of their more complicated riffs just to keep herself busy while the others prepare.

Boris, their guitarist, has already abandoned his shirt, slinging his guitar over his shoulders (and the enormous back tattoo he has of a harpy; technically well done, but Scrimmy still feels _weird_ staring her way-too-big tits in the face). Talon shakes out his shoulders, pacing a little, his ears twitching – he's still new to the gigging life, so Scrimmy understands his nerves. Boris gives him a playful slap on the back that almost knocks Talon flying, and Scrimmy lets out a small snort at the sight, finally getting to her feet from the beat-up sofa.

A quick glance in the dirty mirror (which is Fabian's now, pretty much) confirms that she looks as elegantly dishevelled as she would like, her short hair spiked and mussed with hairspray and her eyeliner as sharp as one of Ril's many, many knives.

She wouldn’t usually put in this much effort, since it’ll likely get sweated off before too long, but this is a special occasion.

Kind of.

Listen.

“Is everyone ready?” Fabian says, and everyone affirms - except.

“Wait, where is Thistle?”

But as if on cue, as Scrimmy feels the hum of the crowd downstairs cheering Icarus off, Thistle - their drummer - emerges from behind the curtain they’d all been using to get changed behind, twirling her drumsticks between her fingers. She grins, all sharp Goblin teeth, and pushes her half-shaved hair back, making it stand messily on end.

“Ready!” she says, sliding up next to Scrimmy.

“Great,” Fabian says, before pouring each of them a shot of tequila into a ring of shot glasses on a tray near the door and handing them all out.

They all clink their glasses together, and Fabian counts down with his fingers - _three, two, one_ \- and they all down the shot at the same time.

Scrimmy doesn’t really like tequila, usually - it burns her throat the wrong sort of way - but they’ve done this since the beginning, and it’s almost a comfort, now, to keep the nerves at bay.

“Fuck yeah,” Boris grins, before leading the way down the rickety stairs and out into the glare of the lights on stage, welcomed by the rising roar of the waiting crowd.

-

Ril will not be giving up her spot at the front, no matter how many drunk old fucks try and elbow past her or push her aside.

After the fourth or fifth time, she kind of wishes she’d brought Endy after all - Endy has a good foot on her, and while aggressive is about a half-mile away from any list of words she would use to describe him, moving him while he’s keeping Ril out of harm’s way would be to move a wall of God.

But no. No, she didn’t bring Endy, because as much as she loves him she doesn’t think a punk show in a crowded, sweaty bar would be his thing, even if he wasn’t completely deaf.

That, and Scrimmy had invited her personally. Had given her two tickets in case she hadn’t wanted to come alone, but.

But.

Before she can finish the thought she gets jostled again, this time by some douchebag Dragonborn with apparently no sense of personal space, and this time she digs an impressively pointy elbow into his side. He yelps and looks appropriately sheepish as he moves away from her, the piss-coloured beer in his plastic cup looking dangerously close to sloshing all over the already sticky floor.

Ril glares at his back anyway, huffing through her nose, before she turns her attention back to the stage.

The opener, a pretty Tiefling, seems to have gotten the whole bar in something of a frenzy - but they weren’t the Tiefling she was here to see.

Besides, pretty though they were, they had nothing on Scrimmy.

Ril feels her face break into a smile behind her scarf as the thought crosses her mind, a brief flurry of butterflies swirling in her stomach.

She's never really imagined herself as the kind of person who would have a crush on anyone. There are more important things, after all, and it has never really been any sort of priority for her. Ril has her friends, and she has her beautiful collection of knives, and she has her knack for causing all kinds of mischief. Having another person around like that, she had thought, would only serve to hold her back.

But Scrimmy had been her friend first, and maybe that was why it had felt so _easy_ to almost ... go one step further.

Scrimmy was wicked and clever – a different kind of wicked to Ril, not so much inclined towards mischief as towards following nobody's rules but her own. And Scrimmy had approached her first, had asked her to go out for that first drink together, just the two of them.

Ril still remembers how she'd almost faltered in the face of it, of Scrimmy – because, fuck, how had Ril never _realised_ that Scrimmy was so fucking _pretty,_ anyway?

Scrimmy liked _her_ first _–_ Scrimmy _like-liked_ her – and – 

It's a lot.

But it's a lot in the kind of way that simmers with potential and excitement, in a way that Ril wants to keep chasing just to see where it might lead.

Just as the thought is tailing off, Ril's glances up as the house lights go down and the crowd around her starts to cheer, and she eagerly presses herself up against the barricade between the crowd and the stage, her eyes peeled for the albino Tiefling she was here to see.

A human comes on stage first, shirtless, with a mop of messy brown hair and covered from the neck down in tattoos, followed by a one-eyed Goblin who practically bounces onto the stage before going to sit at the drumkit, then Talon – who she hadn't known was in this band but hey, y'know, neat – and a handsome Half-Orc, but none of them are who she wants to see. She frowns for a moment, but then -

There.

Scrimmy is the last to arrive, but – _fuck._

Ril gasps despite herself.

Under the bright flood of coloured lights, Scrimmy's pale white skin and hair are bathed in a veritable rainbow, glancing off the spikes of her jacket and the polished silver of her twisting ram-like horns; and her eyes, deep crimson and emphasised with sharp, dark makeup, eventually meet Ril's as she looks out over the crowd.

Scrimmy's face splits into a wide smile at the sight of her, and Ril beams right on back, her heart thudding frantically in her chest, as Scrimmy adjusts the bass guitar in front of her, her fingers finding the frets without her even needing to look.

The Goblin pounds out a beat on her kick drum – a rapid _1-2-3-4 –_ and the band launches into their first song as the crowd roars their appreciation.

Ril only has eyes for Scrimmy, though, drenched in the coloured lights and clearly completely immersed in her playing, her fingers flying over the strings with practiced precision, and she – she wants to know what it's like to have all of that intense attention centred on her, all sharply focused eyes and those _very_ dextrous hands, and – 

And Ril immediately thinks, _well, fuck._

_-_

The show, Scrimmy thinks, is one of the best they've ever done. By the end of it she's practically vibrating from the energy in the room, even as exhausted as she always is right after a show, sweat beading over her brows and down her back from the heat of the lights and the frenzy of their songs.

But she's buzzing with adrenaline, every nerve in her body alight with it, as they finally head off the stage at the end of the set, all of them laughing and cheering as they head back up to the attic to freshen up before they head back out.

Mostly, though, Scrimmy's just … dazed and delighted at Ril, who she hopes will wait around for her downstairs – she checks her phone but the signal up here is dogshit, so even if she messages she doesn't know that Ril will see. But it's alright even if Ril doesn't wait up, because every time Scrimmy looked out in the crowd Ril was watching her every move, starry-eyed and beaming, and that's probably enough to keep her afloat for the next ten years.

Fuck. _Fuck!_

She flops back down onto the couch as Thistle goes to get changed behind the curtain again, the boys playfully jostling each other before pouring out more shots, and just lets herself _feel_ the euphoria that keeps coming in waves.

Ril – Ril was there, and it seemed like she enjoyed it, and it was such a _good set,_ and she just feels as though nothing in the world could dampen this feeling.

Talon comes over to her again eventually, offering her a shot glass, and the two of them down it at the same time, Scrimmy giggling despite herself.

"That was fucking awesome," Scrimmy sees Talon say. He looks how she feels, and it's an odd thing to see on his usually not very expressive face, the absolute delight lighting up his angular Elven features. It makes him look younger, softer, and Scrimmy can feel it catching, grinning up at him herself.

"Fuck yeah it was," she says, raising her empty glass to clink against Talon's. Talon obliges her before Fabian comes over and slings a huge arm around Talon's skinny shoulders, catching him entirely off guard – but she sees Talon laughing, and the rest of her band all exhausted but happy, and it makes something warm unfurl through her chest.

She loves them so much, her ridiculous fucking band.

But soon enough Thistle emerges, and Scrimmy is anxious to find out if Ril is still here, and so she quickly ducks behind the curtain, misting herself with some body spray and changing out her sweaty shirt for a fresh one she'd brought with her – one that was much looser and more comfortable than the crop top she'd been wearing on stage, and that smells a whole lot better.

Once she's done, she comes to put her bass back in its case, the locks snapping satisfyingly as she clicks them in place and slings it over her shoulder – but Fabian touches her shoulder before she goes.

 _You heading out already?_ He signs. He signs a little slowly, but even with his huge hands the gestures are natural and flowing. The question isn't accusatory or hurt, just curious, and Scrimmy nods.

 _Got a date, maybe,_ she signs back. _I'll see you guys on the weekend._

 _Sure,_ Fabian signs back, smiling behind his tusks, and Scrimmy thinks for what must be the thousandth time that he's annoyingly fucking handsome. _Have a good night._

She thinks – she hopes – she just might.

She smiles mostly to herself, waving to the others before she trots back down the stairs.

On an initial glance of the bar – which is still kind of packed from the performance, since it hasn't been that long since it ended – she doesn't immediately spot Ril, and despite herself she feels something sink in her chest; but then she sees someone waving to get her attention, a plastic cup of something dark purple in her free hand.

Scrimmy returns the wave, relief flooding through her as well as a fresh wave of nerves, and starts making her way over to the Drow. The distinctive figure of Endymion is, to her surprise, nowhere to be seen – though now she thinks about it she's pretty sure she didn't see him during the concert, either.

 _Hi,_ Scrimmy signs. Ril hops up onto a free barstool, swinging her legs back and forth, and grins at her.

 _That show was so cool what the fuck,_ Ril signs back to her, all one-handed as she takes a sip of her drink. _You did so great! It was awesome!_

 _Thanks,_ Scrimmy signs back, feeling her cheeks grow warm at the praise. _I'm glad you had fun! What're you drinking?_

Ril looks at her cup, swirls the drink around it a little, then shrugs.

_Some kind of cider, I think. It's really sweet. Wanna try it?_

Scrimmy nods, taking a sip. It is _very_ sweet, not like the beer she usually favours, but she tries her best not to make a face as she hands it back, though she feels her tail lashing to betray her true feelings.

 _You weren't kidding,_ she signs, and Ril smirks, glancing pointedly at Scrimmy's white lion-like tail, fur stood on end.

 _I don't think I really like it either,_ Ril replies. _I just wanted something to do while I waited up for you. I'm glad you came down fast. Did you miss me?_

Scrimmy feels her dumb face go warm, and she takes a second to rub the back of her neck, shrugging in a way that aims for nonchalant but completely misses the mark.

 _Yeah, sue me,_ she signs back, though there's no malice in her expression as she does, and Ril's own face softens with a fondness that just - fucking _immediately_ disarms Scrimmy.

It's a look Ril seems to give Endy a lot, from what she's noticed, and she doesn't know how Endy doesn't melt into a puddle every single time he finds himself on its receiving end. If she wasn't blushing before, she almost certainly is now.

 _We should get out of here when you're done with that drink,_ Scrimmy signs, and Ril nods, picking up the cup and knocking back the sweet, fruity cider. Scrimmy just raises her eyebrows in - well, it starts as surprise, but it morphs pretty quickly into _y'know what, sure._

Ril slams down the empty cup with maybe little bit too much force, beaming at Scrimmy and hopping down off the stool.

 _Let's go then!_ Ril signs, already heading for the door; and Scrimmy, just a little bit ready to actually die for her, follows her out, feeling her stupid face lighting up like Candlenights.

Gods. She's in _trouble._

_-_

The air is blissfully cool as the two step outside – particularly for Scrimmy, who was starting to find that bar _very_ stuffy – and, to Ril, oddly quiet compared to the noise inside. The streets shine with recent rain in the amber streetlights, but the sky above them is just starting to clear, and Ril sees scattering of stars in the spaces between the clouds.

Their college campus isn't _exactly_ in the city – not the way the place she grew up in was a city – but it's close enough that it feels something like home. She'd looked at a place further out in the sticks that had offered something closer to the program she wanted, but the silence had almost driven her crazy. She doesn't know how Endy and Scrimmy stand it.

But Scrimmy seems right at home here – always has done, ever since Ril first met her. She watches as Scrimmy takes out a lighter, briefly flicking it on and off as she walks – a habit borne from when she used to smoke. Although she's never said anything explicitly to Ril about quitting, Ril's noticed how she doesn't smell as cigarette-sharp these days, how her voice has a little less rasp to it on the rare occasions when she speaks instead of signing.

She still carries the lighter, though, because Ril knows she likes to keep her hands busy.

Ril wonders, absently, how _she_ might keep Scrimmy's hands busy, and immediately feels the tips of her ears burning at the thought.

 _Where to?_ Scrimmy eventually signs, one-handed, the other still absently flicking the lighter. Ril glances around – she's not all that familiar with this part of town, and though she'd _love_ to take Scrimmy back to her dorm _right now,_ she kind of doesn't feel like she's done with her night yet.

So she shrugs, and Scrimmy casts her own glance around, crimson eyes catching the glow of the streetlights.

 _I'm pretty sure there's an all-night diner just down the road, if you're hungry,_ she signs – and as if on cue, Ril's stomach lets out a growl that she is very glad Scrimmy can't hear.

 _Food sounds great,_ Ril replies. _Lead the way._

 _Can I call this a date, then?_ Scrimmy signs back, the faintest little smirk teasing the corner of her mouth, and Ril's stomach does a weird little flip at the sight of it.

 _Only if you're buying,_ Ril teases, and Scrimmy lets out a sharp bark of laughter.

_Sure. But only because you're so cute._

Scrimmy winks as she pushes her hands into the pockets of her jacket, heading down a nearby side street, and Ril – huh. Ril has kind of forgotten what her legs are supposed to do.

Her stomach growls again, helpfully reminding her how they actually work, and she darts after Scrimmy, pulling her scarf up further over her face to hide the blush she can feel creeping over her cheeks.

Scrimmy glances sideways at her, one of her pointed ears flicking ever so slightly, before she holds out one of her hands, wiggling her fingers to invite Ril to take hold. Ril takes it, letting her fingers slide into the spaces between Scrimmy's, and feeling a warm buzz of delight at just how well they fit – and at the smile that blooms across Scrimmy's face, all soft and genuine affection in place of the usual Tiefling sharpness.

Ril smiles back, using her free hand to push some of her hair out of her eyes, and lets Scrimmy lead the way to the diner. She doesn't know what she expected - doesn't know what she expects, even, going forward with this, whether it will last a night or a week or more - but at the same time, she doesn't care.

Tonight, somehow both impossibly soft and electric with potential at the same time, is worth a thousand of whatever comes next.


End file.
